Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 86
Most people didn’t even know about her and Huckle; didn’t even ask. Kerensa asked did she want him disinvited, and Polly pointed out that he was Reuben’s best man. Kerensa said screw that, Reuben did anything she told him to, and Polly could only smile and say don’t be ridiculous, it was a tiny kiss ages ago. Who could possibly still be bothered by something like that?
Come the early spring, pop pop pop, the babies all arrived: one Tarnie, one William, Tarnie’s middle name, two Cornelias and a Marina. (One of the Cornelias belonged to Samantha, who had been pregnant after all, just so slender she didn’t recognise the fact.) People started regularly talking about Polbearne needing a school, which inevitably led to some of them saying ‘and a bridge’. The village was still very split. It would be touch and go come the quarterly planning meeting.
Reuben and Kerensa were hoping their wedding ceremony would ‘blow everyone’s socks off’. From Mount Polbearne only Polly was flying out, as maid of honour, which made her really nervous. Samantha couldn’t because she was pregnant. Archie had been invited but couldn’t be persuaded to leave his new baby, the apple of his eye. Jayden was needed to mind the shop.
Polly practised being calm and collected, telling herself that Huckle would probably barely remember her: just some girl he hung out with for a bit, on that holiday he took. She wondered how utterly impossible this was going to be when she had to turn up dressed as Princess Leia, complete with doughnut ears.
‘Why don’t YOU have the doughnut ears?’ she had hissed furiously on one of the many occasions she and Kerensa had had cause to fall out about it.
‘Because I’m going to be the young princess,’ said Kerensa. ‘Reuben thinks the later, prequel episodes are terribly underrated.’
‘That’s because he’s wrong about everything,’ grumbled Polly, trying to plait her hair up again.
‘Wear the wig,’ counselled Kerensa.
‘No chance,’ said Polly. ‘I look like an actual mad person.’
‘But if you have red doughnuts you’ll also look mad.’
‘Strawberry blonde,’ said Polly. ‘And this was your fiancé’s stupid idea. Seriously, is everyone coming like this or is it just going to be me?’
‘Everyone,’ said Kerensa. ‘All five hundred. Reuben is taking it extremely seriously.’
‘FIVE HUNDRED?’
‘But it’s okay,’ said Kerensa. ‘You don’t know any of them.’
‘Great, that helps. Who’s Reuben going to be anyway? Luke?’
‘No! Darth Vader. It’s going to be hilarious.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘Totally! It’s going to be fab.’
‘You’re getting married to Darth Vader.’
‘It’s sexy.’
‘It’s asthmatic. And evil.’
‘Well I think it’s going to be really special.’
Five hundred of Reuben and Kerensa’s friends and relations were booked in to hotels close to the seafront mansion, but Polly was only interested in seeing one. She couldn’t sleep a wink on the long flight over, couldn’t eat. When she got there, too late for the rehearsal, about which Kerensa was furious – ‘You won’t walk at the right speed’ – she wished more than anything else that the hotel would let her into the kitchen to make up some dough to calm her nerves. Instead she lay tossing and turning in the vast luxury suite, trying not to worry about how tired and jet-lagged she’d look in the morning. Finally, at about four a.m., she drifted off, waking, very late, to the most beautiful American morning. The sun shone; the Atlantic looked far bluer and wider, it seemed, than it did from the other side. Polly ordered breakfast in bed, looked at the white costume hanging on the back of the door and groaned loudly.
She couldn’t force anything down but a cup of coffee. She was terrified of seeing him again, particularly when Kerensa, banging furiously on her door, hauled her away to an elaborate hair and make-up session. When she saw her hair twisted into their ludicrous headphone shapes, she wanted to burst into tears. Kerensa on the other hand looked rather good: pale make-up and an extraordinary kimono-style dress, incredibly huge and elaborate, with her hair perched on top of her head and what was clearly about four other people’s hair pinned on for good measure.
‘Wow,’ said Polly.
‘I know,’ said Kerensa. ‘Amazing, huh?’
The wedding was outdoors, on a completely perfect lawn. There was a bower leading down to the water’s edge and chairs laid out with large bows tied to their backs. The bows were black and had pictures of the Millennium Falcon on them.
‘Who are all these people?’ asked Polly wonderingly.
‘Oh, everyone loves Reuben,’ said Kerensa complacently, and Polly gave her a hug.
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘Watch the kimono.’ Kerensa grinned. ‘You too. I have invited all his sexy rich friends. There must be SOMEONE at this wedding who won’t move to another continent if you kiss them.’
‘They’ll move before I kiss them, the second they see this bloody headphone hair… Oh my God, are those Ewoks? They must be boiling.’
The familiar Star Wars music, played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, struck up as they finally reached the French windows leading out to the lawn. Their path was scattered with black and white rose petals. Polly squeezed Kerensa’s hand.
‘EEK!’ Polly said.
‘YAY!!’ said Kerensa back.
Kerensa’s dad, of whom Polly had always been fond, was trying to look as dignified as possible whilst dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi. Father and daughter embraced, then Kerensa, steady as a rock in her huge costume, indicated for her flower girl, Cadence, Reuben’s extraordinarily fat but very pleasant sister, who was dressed as a red handmaiden of some sort, with horns, to throw blood-red rose petals in front of their feet.
Polly stepped out clutching a bunch of white flowers and feeling so nervous she thought she was going to throw up. At first she gazed at the ground where she was walking, but as people started to clap (they obviously did this at American weddings), she raised her head.
And there he was.
Reuben had to be standing on a box, or wearing high heels or something, because assuming it really was him in the black Darth Vader mask, he appeared miles taller than usual. And next to him, managing somehow to look calm and as stupidly handsome as ever, dressed as Han Solo in a rather fetching leather jerkin, was Huckle.
Come the early spring, pop pop pop, the babies all arrived: one Tarnie, one William, Tarnie’s middle name, two Cornelias and a Marina. (One of the Cornelias belonged to Samantha, who had been pregnant after all, just so slender she didn’t recognise the fact.) People started regularly talking about Polbearne needing a school, which inevitably led to some of them saying ‘and a bridge’. The village was still very split. It would be touch and go come the quarterly planning meeting.
Reuben and Kerensa were hoping their wedding ceremony would ‘blow everyone’s socks off’. From Mount Polbearne only Polly was flying out, as maid of honour, which made her really nervous. Samantha couldn’t because she was pregnant. Archie had been invited but couldn’t be persuaded to leave his new baby, the apple of his eye. Jayden was needed to mind the shop.
Polly practised being calm and collected, telling herself that Huckle would probably barely remember her: just some girl he hung out with for a bit, on that holiday he took. She wondered how utterly impossible this was going to be when she had to turn up dressed as Princess Leia, complete with doughnut ears.
‘Why don’t YOU have the doughnut ears?’ she had hissed furiously on one of the many occasions she and Kerensa had had cause to fall out about it.
‘Because I’m going to be the young princess,’ said Kerensa. ‘Reuben thinks the later, prequel episodes are terribly underrated.’
‘That’s because he’s wrong about everything,’ grumbled Polly, trying to plait her hair up again.
‘Wear the wig,’ counselled Kerensa.
‘No chance,’ said Polly. ‘I look like an actual mad person.’
‘But if you have red doughnuts you’ll also look mad.’
‘Strawberry blonde,’ said Polly. ‘And this was your fiancé’s stupid idea. Seriously, is everyone coming like this or is it just going to be me?’
‘Everyone,’ said Kerensa. ‘All five hundred. Reuben is taking it extremely seriously.’
‘FIVE HUNDRED?’
‘But it’s okay,’ said Kerensa. ‘You don’t know any of them.’
‘Great, that helps. Who’s Reuben going to be anyway? Luke?’
‘No! Darth Vader. It’s going to be hilarious.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘Totally! It’s going to be fab.’
‘You’re getting married to Darth Vader.’
‘It’s sexy.’
‘It’s asthmatic. And evil.’
‘Well I think it’s going to be really special.’
Five hundred of Reuben and Kerensa’s friends and relations were booked in to hotels close to the seafront mansion, but Polly was only interested in seeing one. She couldn’t sleep a wink on the long flight over, couldn’t eat. When she got there, too late for the rehearsal, about which Kerensa was furious – ‘You won’t walk at the right speed’ – she wished more than anything else that the hotel would let her into the kitchen to make up some dough to calm her nerves. Instead she lay tossing and turning in the vast luxury suite, trying not to worry about how tired and jet-lagged she’d look in the morning. Finally, at about four a.m., she drifted off, waking, very late, to the most beautiful American morning. The sun shone; the Atlantic looked far bluer and wider, it seemed, than it did from the other side. Polly ordered breakfast in bed, looked at the white costume hanging on the back of the door and groaned loudly.
She couldn’t force anything down but a cup of coffee. She was terrified of seeing him again, particularly when Kerensa, banging furiously on her door, hauled her away to an elaborate hair and make-up session. When she saw her hair twisted into their ludicrous headphone shapes, she wanted to burst into tears. Kerensa on the other hand looked rather good: pale make-up and an extraordinary kimono-style dress, incredibly huge and elaborate, with her hair perched on top of her head and what was clearly about four other people’s hair pinned on for good measure.
‘Wow,’ said Polly.
‘I know,’ said Kerensa. ‘Amazing, huh?’
The wedding was outdoors, on a completely perfect lawn. There was a bower leading down to the water’s edge and chairs laid out with large bows tied to their backs. The bows were black and had pictures of the Millennium Falcon on them.
‘Who are all these people?’ asked Polly wonderingly.
‘Oh, everyone loves Reuben,’ said Kerensa complacently, and Polly gave her a hug.
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘Watch the kimono.’ Kerensa grinned. ‘You too. I have invited all his sexy rich friends. There must be SOMEONE at this wedding who won’t move to another continent if you kiss them.’
‘They’ll move before I kiss them, the second they see this bloody headphone hair… Oh my God, are those Ewoks? They must be boiling.’
The familiar Star Wars music, played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, struck up as they finally reached the French windows leading out to the lawn. Their path was scattered with black and white rose petals. Polly squeezed Kerensa’s hand.
‘EEK!’ Polly said.
‘YAY!!’ said Kerensa back.
Kerensa’s dad, of whom Polly had always been fond, was trying to look as dignified as possible whilst dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi. Father and daughter embraced, then Kerensa, steady as a rock in her huge costume, indicated for her flower girl, Cadence, Reuben’s extraordinarily fat but very pleasant sister, who was dressed as a red handmaiden of some sort, with horns, to throw blood-red rose petals in front of their feet.
Polly stepped out clutching a bunch of white flowers and feeling so nervous she thought she was going to throw up. At first she gazed at the ground where she was walking, but as people started to clap (they obviously did this at American weddings), she raised her head.
And there he was.
Reuben had to be standing on a box, or wearing high heels or something, because assuming it really was him in the black Darth Vader mask, he appeared miles taller than usual. And next to him, managing somehow to look calm and as stupidly handsome as ever, dressed as Han Solo in a rather fetching leather jerkin, was Huckle.
